


Forgiveness is the Final Form of Love

by aishitara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x11, 15x11 tag, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant Through 15x11, Castiel is Very Patient, Dean Is Done With His Own Bullshit, Dean POV, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Episode Tag, First Kiss, Gen, Grown Men Being Soft, Holding Hands, Idiots in Love, Interrupted Interrupting!Moose, Interrupting!Moose, JUST KISS ALREADY, Jack Has Returned From the Empty, Kinda, Kinda Fluffy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary Winchester Is Very Dead, Pre-Slash, kinda angsty, post 15x11, s15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishitara/pseuds/aishitara
Summary: “Well damn, Cas, tell me how you really feel,” he says, trying for humor, to keep things light, but it seems Castiel is determined not to allow the deflection.“You know how I feel, Dean,” Cas says, a gentle admonishment. He turns to face Dean more squarely and pushes his other hand into Dean’s hair, thumb stroking idly under Dean’s eye. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on the back of Dean’s neck, willing him to lean in, come closer.Dean goes.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 138





	Forgiveness is the Final Form of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This conversation popped into my brain after watching 15x11 and seeing Dean’s reaction to Jack’s return. I literally started writing it before I watched the next episode, and of course I now know that Dean and Cas have an absolutely lovely, intimate, totally-have-had-this-kind-of-talk-before Proud Dad conversation in 15x12 which sort of covers… some of the things I wanted to get at here. But obviously not all of them. :-P 
> 
> Also, I imagine Cas can meticulously compartmentalize his feelings to dodge or delay fulfilling his deal with the Empty, so being glad or relieved that Jack is back is different from feeling happiness, which I am assuming he can just switch off. And for the purposes of this fic I’m going to say that he switches it off with Dean as well, and just hovers somewhere close to "pleased". ^.^;
> 
> Big thanks to [goldenraeofsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun) over at the Profound Bond server for helping me work through a piece of dialogue that was giving me headaches, and my lovely, non-fandom hubby, for helping sort out how two people sitting right next to each other at a table can hold hands and kiss. ^_^
> 
> And of course, enormous thanks and big hugs to my lovely beta, [conversationalpurgatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conversationalpurgatory), who always asks the right questions to unstick my brain, and turns things around so quickly it gives me whiplash (in the best way!). She's the best!

Dean is sitting at the kitchen table nursing a glass of whiskey when Castiel comes to find him. He does his best not to hunch his shoulders defensively. Given how this day has ended up, Dean figures he deserves a drink, or maybe three. He stares at his glass and hopes he’s not in for a lecture.

When Cas steps down into the kitchen Dean glances up. Their eyes meet and Dean offers a weary smile. Castiel seems to take this as permission and sits down to join him.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says softly. A beat passes and Dean can feel his smile slipping. He doesn’t have the juice to pretend right now. There are just too many things clamoring for attention in his head. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, not so much breaking the silence as gingerly bending it out of shape, “He’s here, Jack’s really– we got him _back,_ Dean. It’s– this is… a gift.”

Dean grunts softly. “Or luck.” His voice is quiet, barely a murmur. Castiel frowns at Dean, who takes in a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. “I dunno, Cas. This all feels too much like– like somebody’s still pulling the strings, y’know? Just when we need a miracle, one shows up on our friggin’ doorstep?” Dean shakes his head and takes a long swallow of whiskey. “I don’t know if I can trust it.” 

Castiel stays silent, clearly unsure of what to say. 

After a moment, Dean blows out a breath and runs his hands through his hair before grasping his glass again, thoughtful. He shakes his head at himself and keeps his eyes on the table as he speaks. “But I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised,” he says finally.

Castiel’s frown gets impossibly deeper. “What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs. “You told me, once…” He trails off, staring hard into the contents of his glass as though he could find the right words swirling around in all that alcohol if he just looked long enough. He’s not great at Big Emotions at the best of times, and this is about as far from the best of times that Dean thinks they can get.

“You told me that good things do happen,” he says at last, glancing up at Castiel and holding his gaze. “We’ve lost so many people, so many times, I guess I’m just not used to the coming back part, still.”

Castiel hums, a neutral sound. “I think, at this point,” he says carefully, “we have to be grateful that anyone returns to us at all.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and takes another slow drink. When he cradles his cup between his palms again, Castiel continues: “Since Chuck is… set against us now. Or we’re set against Him, however you want to look at it. We should be glad there are forces in the universe – in all the universes – that can restore our family like this.”

“And are you?” Dean asks, quiet and serious. “Glad?”

Castiel sucks in a slow breath. He looks off into the bunker, presumably towards where Jack is still with Sam. He seems to choose his words very carefully when he finally answers, “I am… as close to glad as I can be, given the circumstances.”

Dean huffs a laugh. It’s a sound entirely devoid of joy. “‘The circumstances,’” he echoes, taking another drink. 

A minute passes in tense silence. Dean drums his fingers on the table, chewing on his lower lip. He tips his head back and says on a sigh, “I can’t remember a time in my life where ‘the circumstances’ weren’t just a giant fucking mess that I was expected to clean up.” He leans forward again, elbows on the table, fingers idly dancing across the rim of his glass. “I’m just– I’m so tired of the rollercoaster, man.”

“Dean?”

“How many times have I died, Cas? Or Sam, or Mom, or Dad, or– or _you?_ And now Jack?” Dean shakes his head, still speaking to his whiskey. “I’m fucking exhausted, dude. Grieving over and over and over again. Feeling–” He swallows hard before he continues: “completely hopeless. And then just– I dunno, having people dropped back in your lap alive and breathing? Like they were never even gone in the first place?” Tossing back the remains of his drink, Dean pauses only for a second before he pours himself another hefty dose from the bottle waiting at his elbow. 

“I could do without the emotional whiplash, thanks,” he grumbles, irritable and prickly.

Castiel hesitates a moment before asking, “Are you… unhappy that Jack is here?” 

Dean glances up, sharp, before looking back down at his own hands. He frowns and shakes his head a fraction. “No, man. I’m not unhappy about it.” He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “Can’t say I’m too stoked for it, either, though.”

“Dean–”

“I’m gonna need a minute on this one, okay, Cas? Give me a goddamn minute to figure out how I– how I _feel,_ okay?” 

Castiel takes a long, hard look at Dean, and Dean, well. He’s always felt Cas’ gaze like a weight, but this feels like he’s looking more closely than he’s ever done. The scrutiny is intense. It makes Dean want to squirm where he sits, like a schoolboy caught doing something naughty. His face suddenly feels like it’s on fire. He finds he can’t look away from his own hands, afraid of what he’ll see if he does.

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says at last, and Dean feels his shoulders come down away from his ears. 

Slowly, carefully, Castiel reaches across the table and takes Dean’s hand in his. He pauses before he runs his thumb over the back of Dean’s knuckles, gentle, light. It’s so different, so… _tender_ a gesture, Dean is completely flummoxed. There are a lot of things between him and Cas, but tenderness is definitely not one of them. He lifts surprised eyes to Castiel’s face, mouth working, but nothing coming out for a second. 

“Cas, what–?”

Before Dean can finish… whatever it is he thought he was going to say, Sam’s clomping footsteps force his attention to the kitchen door. Castiel pulls away abruptly, clasping his hands in front of himself on the table, casual. As if he hadn’t just shaken Dean to his bones with a simple touch. 

They both glance up at the door when Sam’s hulking frame comes into view. Dean shifts in his seat, both hands wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around the tumbler of whiskey. 

“What’s up, Sammy?”

“We need to talk about Jack,” Sam says, eyeing them as though he knows he’s interrupted something, but needs to plow ahead anyway. He at least has the decency to look apologetic.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Y’think?” he says, no energy left to stop himself from responding sarcastically. 

Sam’s apologetic look instantly morphs into an epic bitchface. He turns to Castiel, presumably for backup, but Cas merely stares back at him sternly, brow furrowed.

“I’m serious, you guys. It’s _great_ that we have him back, but… we don’t know anything about Billie’s plans for him.” 

“No, Sam, we don’t. But you know how we could find out? If you go talk to him.” Dean would very much like for his brother to kindly _butt the fuck out,_ thank you very much. And you know what, he has no problem saying so. “Look, Sammy, me an’ Cas are in the middle of something, here.” He watches his brother’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, though Dean is too tired to care how surprised Sam seems to be. For what feels like the first time in his life, Dean is going to let _someone else_ worry about carrying around the weight of the fucking world. He and Cas were long overdue for a heart to heart, and in this moment Dean is absolutely sick of putting himself last. 

“Go talk to the kid. Maybe hit the books. We’ll figure this shit out later.”

“Okay,” Sam says, drawing out the ‘o’ in further surprised confusion as he half-turns to leave the kitchen. “I guess– I guess I’ll just– go, then?” Dean nods, curt, and Sam goes, but not without first shooting Dean a look that practically screams _you better believe we will discuss this later._

Dean sighs and shakes his head before he turns to Castiel and gives him an expectant look. 

But Cas seems to have something else to say, now. “Dean,” he begins, treading carefully, “when… Belphagor was– was with us, you told him that Jack was our child.” 

“Kid, I said _kid–_ ” 

Castiel visibly tries and fails to tamp down on his exasperation. “Don’t argue semantics with me, Dean,” he gripes. “I was… surprised to hear you describe him that way. After what happened with– what he did to Mary.” He looks over at Dean, sadness and curiosity in his eyes. And something else, Dean thinks. Something hopeful.

“I said I’m gonna need some time, Cas,” he says eventually. “Because yeah. Yeah, he is our kid, he’s yours and mine and Sammy’s. But he–” Dean cuts himself off, chews the inside of his cheek. He takes a deep breath and tries to put a lid on the rage that’s crawling up his throat. Mom didn’t– hadn’t _asked_ to be brought back. But she had been. And as much as Dean had once coveted his faded childhood memories of Mary Winchester, they were nothing compared to actually having her in their lives. Not even as just their mom. She was a friend, too. Someone who understood him and Sam and… and respected them, loved them. And maybe Dean took that for granted. He knows better than anyone, though, that the people you love can disappear in a puff of smoke if you’re not careful.

“I thought– I just thought I was gonna have more time with her, man.” His voice comes out so much quieter than he intended.

Castiel is quiet for a moment before he glances over his shoulder at the door. When he seems satisfied that no one will interrupt them again, he looks over at Dean and reaches his hand across the table, palm up this time. Incredulous, Dean finds himself sliding his hand into Castiel’s without hesitation. Like they just do this kind of shit all the time or something. This is no manly grip, no test of strength. Understanding and warmth radiate from Castiel’s face as he curls his fingers loosely around Dean’s, gentle. They sit at the kitchen table, freaking _holding hands,_ like it is the most normal thing in the world for the two of them to be doing. 

“Dean,” Castiel says as he once again brushes his thumb lightly over Dean’s skin, “you… care about everything so deeply. _Feel_ everything so deeply. Grief. Anger. Relief.” He raises his eyes to Dean’s and something wistful crosses his face. “Exultation. Joy.” 

Dean snorts. “Joy? When have you seen me joyful, dude? Our lives ain’t exactly a picnic.”

“I can think of at least a few occasions,” Castiel says with a small smile. He tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, reminding Dean that they are still touching, still connected. “Mostly involving cowboys or pie,” he adds, offhand in a way that makes Dean think Cas is actually _teasing_ him. What even is his life right now? 

“What’s your point, Cas?” Dean asks, suddenly struck by the idea that he is witnessing, first-hand, a major shift in his relationship with Castiel. And, he’s surprised to discover, he’s okay with the direction it seems to be heading. 

“My point is, once you have… felt everything you have to feel about what happened to your mother, perhaps you will find there is still room in your heart to forgive…” He hesitates a moment, not so much at a loss for words as apparently worried that they might not be well received. “To forgive our… son. For the things he’s done.” 

‘Son’ rattles around inside Dean’s brain, taking him by surprise and making his breath stick in his throat. Jack _was_ basically their kid, and certainly the closest Dean would ever get at this point. However much Dean had been responsible for looking after Sam, or even Ben once upon a time, something about Jack made Dean feel… well, like a dad. Or at least how he figured a dad _should_ feel, all of the fucked-up beginnings and – temporary – endings of their relationship aside: Frustrated. Worried. Terrified. _Proud._ Of course he would forgive Jack. 

Eventually. For now everything – _everything_ – feels too jumbled up and raw. He feels like he’s separated from his body, caught up in the endless sweep of emotions that want to carry him away.

“The way,” Castiel is continuing, soft, “the way I wish you would finally forgive me.” His voice and the tight grip on Dean’s hand drag Dean back into reality, anchored. And Dean realizes, whenever he’s felt adrift, whenever things have felt too… _unreal_ … Castiel has always been a safe harbor. No matter the severity of the storm. If there’s one thing Dean knows he can count on in this life, it’s that Castiel, Angel of the freakin’ Lord, is his rock. His lighthouse. A beacon back to himself.

Dean knows that no matter what happens, Castiel will stand by his side. He knows it like he knows he’d die to save Sam, or Cas, or Jack. Bone deep and _real._ He’s…

He’s done running from this. 

Dean shuffles his chair closer to Castiel until their shoulders are brushing. It makes the angle for hand-holding a little awkward, so Dean twists his fingers around until it feels comfortable again. He lowers his head, making sure to catch Cas’ eye. “I already told you I forgive you, angel,” he says, voice a soft murmur, willing Castiel to _know_ in his – fuck it, in his _heart_ – what Dean had already told him, in Purgatory. He sees the way the pet name hits Cas, or maybe it’s just hearing Dean say it a second time. He sees the way it puts Cas off-balance. “You lookin’ for something else?” 

To his credit, Castiel doesn’t roll his eyes or scoff at Dean’s sass. Instead, he says, solemn, “I am.”

The blunt answer catches Dean by surprise, and while he’s busy flapping his jaw like a fish, Cas leans in closer. His eyes drop down to Dean’s mouth and back up, and Dean can feel a sudden flush creep up into his face.

“Well damn, Cas, tell me how you really feel,” he says, trying for humor, to keep things light, but it seems Castiel is determined not to allow the deflection.

“You know how I feel, Dean,” Cas says, a gentle admonishment. He turns to face Dean more squarely and pushes his other hand into Dean’s hair, thumb stroking idly under Dean’s eye. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on the back of Dean’s neck, willing him to lean in, come closer.

Dean goes.

However many times Dean had imagined this – and he _had_ imagined it, plenty, sue him – he’d somehow never thought that kissing Castiel would feel so… normal. Like it was just an extension of who they were and how they interacted. Like they were already so deeply a part of one another that this mere brushing of lips was only a reminder that they… belonged. That, for better or worse, they were bound.

And while that is a wonderful, cozy feeling that makes his chest feel warm, Dean suddenly thinks of something absolutely _awful_ and pulls away.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now,” he says, watching a frown start to form on Cas’ face. “If Jack is our son then Sammy gets to be the uncle, okay, I’m not having a three-way with my brother.”

Castiel just rolls his eyes. “I think I can handle that, Dean,” he says, fondly exasperated, and pulls Dean back in for another kiss.

Dean thinks he’ll need to thank Jack, one day, for making Dean face up to the fact that every minute is precious. None of them know how long they’ve got, and who knows how many saves they get after this? For all they know, the next death will be the real thing. But for now… for now he just wants to start making up for lost time. He pulls back from kissing Castiel and rests his forehead against Cas’. 

“C’mon,” he says, standing up and pulling Castiel after him, tightening their fingers together. “I got all the ‘somethin’ else’ you can handle down the hall.” 

For the rest of this night, someone else can worry about the big picture. Someone else can carry the weight. 

Dean has more important things to see to.

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> You can come look at pictures of pretty boys with me over on [tumblr](https://aishitara.tumblr.com/). I'm 100% Destiel _trash_ and so's my blog lol.


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